The first white star! My dear one, still we travel
A love-illumined path as when we met,
For hand in hand we hear time's rhythmic gavel
Striking our twilight hour with no regret:
Remembering the larks in April fluting;
The music of a new-born infant's cry;
The joy of lusty, laughing boys saluting,
And gay starched little girlies skipping by ...
So many primrose hours--a touch of grieving--
And from them time unrolls a miracle,
For now we see, when viewing our years' weaving,
The pattern of the whole is beautiful.
The first white star ... and night ... dawn's opening gate--
Our lyric song, love is inviolate.
